


would you die for the one you love?

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: And would you save my soul tonight?  Mark the correct answer.True [  ] False [  ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bliphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliphany/gifts).



> This is my (extremely) belated birthday gift for [bliphany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bliphany/pseuds/bliphany), based on [her beautiful graphics](http://bliphany.tumblr.com/post/167914193064) and as inspired by [this beautiful poem](http://burnhamandtilly.tumblr.com/post/167876380423). Title and summary are from the lyrics of Enrique Iglesias' "[Hero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koJlIGDImiU)".

 

 

_i. you love him_

_**True [x]** False [  ]_

 

From the moment you chose to live or die with him on a rooftop, you knew.

It wasn’t about you wanting to play the hero—that was John’s thing, not yours, you thought in dark amusement—nor about doing the right thing; it wasn’t even about the guilt you carried in failing to protect him up until that moment when you were both standing there as the bomb strapped to John’s chest continued to count down; it was about you wanting to be there, with him, until the very end.

You realised that if this would be the end of your life, it meant spending the rest of it with John, and that was something you would never, ever regret.

 

* * *

 

_ii. it was his fault_

_True [  ] **False [x]**_

 

There were times when you wanted to blame him for it.

You wished he hadn’t been so persistent, so stubborn.  You wished he hadn’t been so adept at breaking down your walls and making you vulnerable to his gentle smiles, making you shiver with something warm that wasn’t due to the green tea.

You wished he hadn’t been so efficient in making you fall completely in love with him, except that wasn’t his fault, really.

He was the one anomaly in all of your data—a good man cloaked in blood, a heroic murderer, a contradiction in having the purest of hearts and the deadliest of hands.

He was the one soul the world couldn’t corrupt, and that—that was _fascinating._

It wasn’t his fault that he was a good man.  It was yours, because you couldn’t help but be drawn to him, to come close—and _ruin him._

 

* * *

 

_iii. if you were given a second chance, you’d kiss him in the rain the Sunday before it ended_

_**True [x]** False [  ]_

 

You were so terribly, terribly afraid that at any given moment, he would walk away again.

You had been so complacent in this tenuous partnership that you took for granted that he could leave you behind _by choice_.  Granted, he had now returned, yet he looked at you with something close to pity, and you shrank away from that, ashamed to let him see how close you were to begging him to stay.

And wasn’t it such a bittersweet irony to have all the power in the world at your fingertips, but you didn’t even have a hold on the one person who held your heart.

You looked at him and wondered, with such powerful, aching yearning, what it would be like to touch him, to taste him, to _have_ him, knowing you might never get the chance again, because he had already told you before he left: ‘ _I can’t stay.’_

He had never, not once, ever told you: ‘ _I’m home.’_

 

* * *

 

_iv. if you were given a second chance you’d turn right and never meet him_

_**True [x]** False [  ]_

 

You should’ve known that you’d destroy everything you’d ever touch.

You should’ve learned your lesson with Nathan.  You should’ve known that in your hubris of wanting to save the world, you failed to protect _yours._

You told him that you never meant for him to find you, and you meant it.  Because if he kept going like this, running after you, chasing you, when every instinct was _screaming_  at you to protect him above all because _he_ was your whole world now, you didn’t think you could handle losing the last fragmented bits of your soul when he’d die because of you— _again._

He told you in return that you saved his life once or twice, and this was just him returning the favour, and even the haze of your drug-addled mind and the screams of the people in the train station weren’t enough to drown the searing pain in your chest when you finally realised the real reason why he was sticking around.

You had never, ever meant for him to be indebted to you.

 

* * *

 

_v. you can’t regret a single moment that you had him_

_True [  ] **False [x]**_

 

This, you told yourself angrily, _this_ was why the two of you should have _never met._

You struggled to catch him as he fell, cursing him in your mind for having the ridiculous sense of loyalty to _literally_ take a bullet for you.  This would completely undermine the entire purpose of, well, _giving him a purpose._

You took him out of Detective Carter’s precinct on that fateful first day because you wanted to save him from killing himself.  His purpose was to _live_ , god damn it.  He should never, _ever_  have any more reason to _die._

 _“I’m okay, Finch,”_  he rasped out, sensing your worry even as he was _bleeding out on the floor_ , and it was at that moment that you swore to yourself that the next time someone was going to have to die, you would never, _ever_  allow John to make that decision anymore.

You would never allow him to value your life over his ever again.

 

* * *

 

_vi. it ended long before either of you said anything_

_True [  ] False [  ]_

 

“Harold, wait,” you whispered in horror, knowing _exactly_  what he was about to do.

He wasn’t supposed to be the hero in this story.  It was supposed to be _you._

“Finch, _wait_ ,” you tried again, because you realised that with every limping step he was taking away from you, you would never, _ever_ get to tell him everything you wanted to:

 

> i.    That you never regretted any single moment with him;
> 
> ii.   That if you were given an infinite number of chances, you would choose this life with him still, over and over again;
> 
> iii.  That you wanted so badly to kiss him on Sundays and rainy days and taste the purity of it on your tongue and drink the redemption in his mouth as you let it wash away all of your sins;
> 
> iv.  That you had never, ever blamed him for anything, not even Jessica’s death;
> 
> v.   That you love him the way you had never, ever loved anyone before, because you may be incapable of loving even yourself, but _god_ , you would save up all the love you’ve failed to show before, all for _him_ , because he was the only one you had ever wanted to give yourself completely to: mind, body, heart, and soul.

 

“ _Wait,”_  you choked on all the words, because the only thing that mattered now was for him to be there to _hear_  them.

_**“Wait.”** _

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because [bliphany](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bliphany/pseuds/bliphany) made another amazing gifset [here](http://bliphany.tumblr.com/post/168292390129/you-realised-that-with-every-limping-step-he-was) as inspired by the first chapter... I couldn't help but make a second one, too.

 

_**v. you love him the way you had never, ever loved anyone before** _

 

You had a habit of pushing everyone else away.

Even Jessica, the only pure soul you had ever loved when your soul was still untarnished, was someone you kept at arm’s length.  Your life as a soldier already carried a certain darkness that you would never have the heart to expose her to.

If you were to be honest with yourself, you knew that if she saw you for who you really were... she’d be afraid of you.  And you couldn’t bear seeing that fear in her eyes that looked at you with so much love.

Even Joss was someone you had to push away, to send back into the safety of her family, to the son who was waiting for her. 

You never expected Lionel to be here either, attempting to save you from your own past, and really, not even someone like him deserved to be punished by the sins of your own doing, the mistakes you couldn’t run away from, anymore.

Harold... was the only one stubborn enough to stay.

He was your unshakeable rock, one who refused to be where he didn’t want to be, and you wonder what it meant that he wanted to be _here_ , with you.

You watched him as he muttered to himself, deft fingers steady as they tried to stop the countdown of death strapped to your chest, and you were grateful for his distraction, because you were gazing at him with naked adoration, and your legs were buckling with the overwhelming desire to fall to your knees in worship had he been not holding you up, and that—that kind of hope is _dangerous_.

Because it meant that you were starting to believe that you could be happy with him, and happiness was something you always pushed out of your reach, because you always ended up destroying it.

You had done many unforgivable things in your life, and you had never once believed you deserved redemption for any of it.  But to destroy the one good man worth protecting—worth dying for—that was the one thing you would send yourself to hell to before you would ever allow it to happen.

You would ensure he would get his heaven, even if you wouldn’t ever be a part of it.

 

* * *

 

_**iv. you had never, ever blamed him for anything** _

 

You had never been a keen believer in religion, but you looked at him and thought: this was how a god must be like.

You watched him as he hobbled forward, Bear pressed close to his side in loyalty to his true master, and you wondered at the heaviness of the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders, hunched over from weariness and a spine that would never let him run again.

To him, carrying the weight of the world was all too literal.  The difference was, he shouldn’t have had to.

You understood, a little, how religions work, how they were able to reconcile believing in a god who watched over them and yet still allowed bad things to happen.  A god’s true benevolence came from knowing he had no right to take away any power from anyone, and that was something he understood far too well: he believed in the power of freewill.

It was a wonder then, that even though he knew that all the bad things that happened had come from decisions that were entirely each of their own—Control, Special Counsel, Hersch, Shaw, Root, even Ingram—he couldn’t ever shake off the accountability that all of those decisions revolved around _his_ creation.

You frowned at the way he seemed to sink into himself, blaming himself for everything.  He may have inadvertently dealt the cards, but each of the players—even the Machine, even _you_ —had their own gameplay, and he should know, he _must_ know, that he had no control over any of it.

He was trying too hard to save people who made the executive decision to _not_ save themselves, and he couldn’t take that power away from them.  

It wouldn’t have been right.

He stopped and looked at you then, quietly confessing his true worry at how the events _he_ put into motion might have affected _you,_ and you are stunned into breathlessness at the abject apology in his gaze.

Jessica was the one true light in your life, gone far too soon, far before you were ever ready to believe you had been worthy of her love.  You would have given up anything— _anything at all—_ to have her back.

But you would never, _ever_ trade a life with her... for _this_.

She chose Peter, and you chose not to stop her from making that choice.  You chose to go willingly into the mercenary orders of Mark Snow and the cold seduction of Kara Stanton.  You chose to nearly drown yourself to death— through amber bottles of whiskey, and later on, the East River—when you lost both your missions and your heart.  

He shouldn’t ever blame himself for this, for _any_ of it, not when he was the only one who ever saw the darkness in you, the madness you were capable of, and he still chose—

You heart stuttered to a halt.  Like an explosion inside of your chest, the realisation engulfed you, and while Jessica’s light was a candle in the darkness, his... was the _sun._

He chose to look at you.  He chose to see _all_ of you.

And he still chose... to love you.

 

* * *

 

**_iii. you wanted so badly to kiss him on Sundays and rainy days_ **

 

You remembered date nights under the rain, wanting to end each one with a kiss.

The want had simmered beneath your skin, a steady burn like the slide of whiskey down your throat.

You couldn’t stop yourself from wanting.  Every time he was near enough to touch, to hold, to _have,_ your hands _burned_  with the desire to map the terrain of his skin, hidden beneath layers upon layers of expensive clothing, and brand each inch of scarred flesh with your name, your _real_ name, because it was the only thing left that was truly yours, and you wanted all of it, all of who you were, to be _his_.

Wanting... was dangerous.  

That was why Joss died, after all.

You quickly downed your twelfth glass of whiskey, and the bitter alcohol tasted like failure on your tongue.  You signalled for a thirteenth glass, ignoring the way the bartender was eyeing you worriedly.

You failed to save Joss, just as you failed to save Jessica.  You failed the only two women to have eased their way into your heart, and all because you were foolish enough to allow them to care for you.  You had never envisioned a future with either of them, far from it—Jessica was too innocent, and Joss was too principled—because neither of them would ever understand nor accept the kind of work you did. 

The kind of man you were.

But _he_ did.  Unquestioningly, he looked into your file and saw your bloody history, and he looked into your eyes and saw the monster within, and he still welcomed you—into his life, his mission.

His heart.

And then suddenly, it was all too easy to envision a future with _him—_ shared breakfasts and movie nights and walks in the park with Bear in between days of saving lives and meeting up with their detective friends for a drink and a debriefing, coming home to pristine sheets and gentle touches that healed his scrapes and bruises and fed his starving heart—

And somehow, nothing else mattered anymore.   

You were able to accept Jessica’s choice to marry Peter.  You were happy for Joss to have found Detective Beecher.  You cared for them both with the warmth and affection of a selfless love.

But with _him..._  you remembered the pain in his voice as Lou Mitchell talked about second chances, and the thought of Grace—bless her perfect, gentle soul—having everything you ever wanted to share with _him—_

You couldn’t bear to let it go.  Your love for him... was a selfish one.

You nearly destroyed yourself in your grief over Jessica.  You nearly destroyed half the city in your vengeance over Joss.

You didn’t know what you’d be capable of if you’d lose _him._   You would have destroyed the _world._

And the intensity of that _want_ , that deep-seated desire to possess, to  _burn_ all that stood in your way and all who dared to touch what was _yours_... that _terrified_ you.

And so you did the only thing you could do in face of that fear.

You ran away.  Far, far away from him, where the temptation of love and family and friendship and _home_ was too strong, too alluring to resist.

You told yourself that it was better this way.  Because you wouldn’t be able to bear it if someone _else_ got to live that dream life with him.

You wouldn’t stop him.  You loved him too much to ever deny him that.

But you wouldn’t stand by and watch.

You survived losing Jessica.  You’d soon survive losing Joss.

You wouldn’t survive losing _him..._ to someone else’s love.

 

* * *

 

**_ii. if you were given an infinite number of chances, you would choose this life with him still, over and over again_ **

 

You were a fool to have ever thought it was better to leave him behind.

Outside, Samaritan’s forces drew ever closer.  Inside, he and Root were doing their best to save the Machine.  And here you were, the lone soldier standing in the way of their survival—or their death.

You cocked your gun determinedly.  The second option was _unacceptable._

You asked the Machine if she could hear you, and she answered in the affirmative.  Not for the first time, you wondered why she chose you.

You could understand why Root was one of her two choices to hand over the power of God Mode, in the wake of her near destruction—again.  Root loved her above anything and anyone, and the Machine knew that. 

You didn’t feel the same.  You never loved the Machine, and you were sure  _she_ knew that too.

But the Machine loved _him_  the most, even more than Root.  Root may be her analog interface, but he—he was her _Father._

You looked straight into the CCTV camera.  It blinked steadily back at you.  And somehow, in that moment, you and the Machine had finally come to an understanding.

The Machine had always, _always_ chosen you.  She chose you when Root was still someone you hunted, because she couldn’t let her Father be hurt any further.  She chose you even when you were at the lowest point of your life—homeless and drunk and suicidal—when she could’ve chosen any other fallen soldier to be _his_ right hand in this crusade.  She chose to bring him closer to _you,_ the same way she had chosen to lead him to Grace, once upon a time. 

She chose you, when she could’ve chosen anyone else to be her Father’s partner.  Because she knew that just as Root would do anything to save her, _you_ would do anything—anything at all—to save _him._

Somehow she knew, even before you were able to figure it out for yourself, that you would love _him_  better than anyone ever could.  Better than the Machine herself.  Even better than Grace.

And she was counting on that.  She was counting on you to be her father’s saviour.

You ordered the Machine to kill the lights, and in the pitch black darkness, you suddenly wondered what would’ve happened if _you_ had chosen differently—if you had chosen to refuse the job _he_ had offered, the purpose he had selflessly given as your lifeline.

Had you chosen to turn your back on him, you wouldn’t have been here to protect him. He would’ve been fighting this war without a team of knights surrounding him, ready to fight for their king, because _you_ were the one who found them all for _him_ —Joss, Lionel, Sameen, Root, even _Bear._

He wouldn’t have anyone else left, because Nathan chose to walk into his own destruction, Arthur chose to walk into his delusion, and Grace—

Grace had chosen to believe in the illusion he gave, with the innocence of one who failed to see the darker reality within.  She deserved better than to live with that lie, and that was why he chose to leave her behind.  

He chose to be alone.

You stepped outside, listened to the Machine’s digital voice giving you direction, and fired.  One by one, Samaritan’s forces went down.

He deserved better than that.  A man capable of such limitless love shouldn’t ever have to face this world alone.

No matter what mistakes you made in your life, this was the one choice you made _right._ And you would never, ever choose otherwise.

There was no other choice you’d ever make but to be by his side. 

 

* * *

 

**_i. you never regretted any single moment with him_ **

 

It had been your lifelong dream to be a hero.

“When you came to me, you gave me a job.  A purpose."

You never thought you’d be this lucky to have met the one person who made that dream come true.

“At first, well... I’ve been trying to save the world for so long, saving one life at a time seemed a bit anticlimactic.”

For so long, the world seemed intent on shattering that dream.  

The wars you went to as a soldier taught you that there would be people you could never save, that you’d be helpless to stop the collateral damage.  

The covert operations you did under the orders of the CIA showed you the price that sometimes had to be paid for the illusion of peace, selling your soul so that others would be able to keep theirs, pure and unblemished with the blood that would forever stain your hands.  

HR demonstrated the depth of how low people could sink just to be self-serving, how sickeningly corrupted humanity could be when they were blinded by power and greed.

Samaritan proved that the most evil of crimes were done under the most benevolent of intentions, and that no one—not even an artificial super intelligence—had the right to decide who lived or who died.

He, however, showed you something different.  Something you wouldn’t have learned if you hadn’t met him.

“But then I realised...”

He taught you that the value of a life couldn’t be measured by mere statistics.  That saving lives could never be justified by the number, that the lives of many could never be compared to the life of one, because everyone was relevant to someone.  

“Sometimes one life...”

You accepted, finally, that you could never save the world.  You could never make that decision for people who would keep making the choice not to save themselves, or others.  He, after all, created the one virtual God that could have achieved that, but the freewill of humanity still proved more powerful—such as the choices made by one as deluded as Greer.

“If it’s the right life...”

But he also proved to you that the choices made by good people would always, always give humanity hope.  Lionel proved that in turning away from HR.  Root proved that in refusing to accept Samaritan’s offer.  Joss proved that in upholding the letter of the law until the very end.  Sameen proved that by remaining loyal to their team even in the throes of the delusions Greer imprinted on her mind.

And he finally showed that _you_ were relevant.  You had family.  Friends.  A home.

You had someone who loved you with all his heart and soul.

“... it’s enough.”

It would always, always be enough, more than you ever deserved.

“ _Sure, everyone dies alone.”_

You smiled at the Machine’s voice— _Root’s_ voice—in your ear.  Somehow, he proved that wrong too.

He was here with you, wasn’t he?

“ _But if you meant something to someone...”_

You closed your eyes and remembered: ‘ _Always, Mr. Reese.’_

_“If you helped someone...”  
_

You thought of Darren Grady, and hoped that someday he would be the ronin he had always aspired to be.  He had always fit that mantle better than you ever did.

You thought of Leon, and you shook your head fondly, and hoped he’d turn over a new leaf.  Somehow, you knew he already did.  

“ _... or loved someone...”_

You thought of Iris, of Zoe, of Joss, of Jessica.  All these women would always have a part of your heart, even as the whole of it belonged to _him._

_“... if even a single person remembers you...”  
_

You thought back to all the Numbers you had saved over the years of working with him, and you realised that all of them would remember who you were.  The rest of the world would never know the real identity of the Man in a Suit, but to those Numbers, you would hopefully live on in their memory as a reason for them to keep on making the choice to _live_ , because they were relevant to someone, too.

_“... then maybe... you never really die at all.”  
_

And maybe... they would pass on that lesson too, someday, to people who needed to remember their worth.

Just as he taught you, when he saved _you_.

“ _I know I made mistakes.  Many mistakes.”_

In your pursuit of becoming a hero, you ended up killing more lives than you would ever save.

“ _But we helped some people.  Didn’t we?”_

He gave you a second chance.  He gave you more than a job, a purpose.  

He gave you redemption.

“ _Yes.  Yes we did.”_

He made you a hero once more.

“Goodbye, Harold.”

And in making you a hero, he immortalised you.

He made you live forever.

“ _And maybe... this isn’t the end at all.”_

 

* * *

 

**_0\. “you wanna be brave? take a risk. tell me to wait for you, and... say those words, and I will.”_ **

 

“Harold, wait.”

Something in his voice—hoarse, trembling, _pleading—_ stopped you in your tracks.  The bullet wound on your side continued to burn and bleed through your fingers, but you ignored the blinding pain as you remembered, suddenly, something he once told you three years ago.

' _My life changed when I kept my mouth shut at an airport seven years ago.'_

Almost ten years ago, now.  What would he have said then, you wondered?

“Finch, _wait_.”

You were beginning to be lightheaded and dizzy from the blood loss, but somehow you were able to steadily turn around and look back at him through the vault which you locked him in, to protect him.

Your breath caught at the utter betrayal you saw in his eyes.

“John...” you uttered helplessly.  You only ever wanted to save him.  Surely he would understand that?

His fingers gripped the bars tightly, the black and blue bruises stark on his battered skin.  

“Wait for me.”  He looked at you with conviction, pinning you with his gaze.  “ _Please_.”

The lump formed in your throat before you could formulate an answer.  

There were so many things still left unsaid.  So many things you wanted to tell him, so many things you wanted to _hear_ from him.

The clock was ticking.  Samaritan would soon bring about the true apocalypse. Any minute now you’d soon bleed to death.

You still had time.

Shakily, you limped toward him, drops of blood marring your every step, and threaded your fingers through his.

“Okay,” you whispered through your smile, through your tears.  “ _Okay.”_

 


End file.
